This House Called Love
by Rora Elle
Summary: Cora and Robert have only been married for a few months, and they find it hard to be in love, much less live in the same room.
1. Chapter 1

"Will there be anything else, milady?"

Brown, the lady's maid, paused at the door, her hand lingering on the knob, but Cora smiled at her and shook her head.

"No, that's all, Brown," she said firmly, careful to soften her r's and a's. She felt so crass here, from the flatness of her speech to the wonder that she often had to conceal at her surroundings. It had been three months already since she had married the future Earl of Grantham, and while she finally understood the housemaids' accents and her way around the enormous Abbey, she still felt horribly out of place. With every letter from her mother, the feeling only worsened.

But clinging to her lady's maid would never do; Cora knew that well enough. She had been raised, if not for this position, then for one of equal prestige in the States. It had been her own fault that she had insisted on entertaining the Earl of Grantham's offer to wed his son and trade her fortune for a chance at a Countess's coronet. And it was her own fault that she now found herself in the drafty Abbey, four thousand miles across the ocean from her friends and family.

The candles flickered on either side of the bed, but Cora made no move to blow them out. She knew to expect Robert tonight; he had been overly solicitous at dinner, the way that he always was when he was thinking to pay a visit to her bed. When the men had joined them in the drawing room, he had made it a point to speak quietly to her in the tender way that put an approving look on his mother's face. Cora could not tell if she herself was sickened by the attention or not. On the one hand, to have one's husband behave adoringly was a blessing. On the other, she'd just as soon have the business done with. There was no use lingering when there was no love lost.

But oh, how she wished there was love to lose. In the long process of balls and calls and negotiations, she had dreamt of how it would be to marry Robert, to see his handsome face every morning and learn to love him. And while she saw the potential to love him, the stirrings in her heart were kept to just that: stirrings. Cora had not decided yet if it would be easier to allow herself to fall in love, or to play her role as written. Love would make her duty easier, certainly, but there would be so much pain involved, as well.

Robert did not love her. That much was clear. He did not hate her, of course. She was reasonably beautiful. She had gone through a queue of suitors in Cincinnati and New York, finding all of them wanting, but finding evidence that her own charms were plentiful. She was attractive, she had the skills to run a household, she was refined and educated, she was pleasant. She had a fortune to top it all off. But all of those qualities did not engender a spark in her husband, a quiet, thoughtful young man who was more fond of solitary walks with his dogs and sitting with his books than of learning the nuances of his American bride.

Cora had thought of writing to her cousin – her older, happily married cousin – to ask advice on pleasuring a husband. But she did not want stories of her failure to traverse the ocean. Here, in the capital of arranged marriages and duty over love, her predicament was a common one. But in the States, where her amount of money should have ensured her at least the choice of a reasonably happy union, her failure – and such a high one! To fail to please a Viscount! – was nothing short of a laughable tragedy.

The knock on her door was so soft that, had she not been lying in wait, she would have missed it. She did not bid him enter, but enter he did, shutting the door that connected his dressing room to her room firmly behind him.

"How are you this evening?" he asked politely, standing awkwardly next to the bed.

Cora wished he wouldn't do that – wait for permission. It was all so strained, the dance of their copulation. It was his bed, his house for God's sake! His parents were nearby, only a corridor away, and she wished for a moment, as she did every night, that he had taken the offer of Crawley House when it was extended. But no, they were to stay here, having marital relations weekly with his mother lying in speculation mere yards away.

"I am quite well," Cora assured her husband. If she could only get over this horrible accent obstacle and neutralize it a bit! Every word out of her mouth made her self conscious; perhaps that was part of the reason she seemed to hold no allure.

"Excellent. Then, if I may-"

Cora gestured to the bed, unable to form the words, and Robert turned around to untie his dressing gown. Cora's first instinct was to look away, but she could not, and she caught a quick glimpse of a ripple of muscles through her husband's nightshirt.

And her husband caught her looking.

"I beg your pardon," murmured Cora hastily, unconsciously drawing the blanket more firmly toward her chest.

"No need, of course," replied Robert quickly, "all perfectly proper."

"Thank you," said Cora, stopping uncertainly. Thank you milord? Thank you Robert? Husband?

Before she could decide, Robert blew out the candles on his side of the bed, signaling the beginning of their jig. Cora blew hers out before he could see the confusion on her face.

"I was wondering if we might try something new."

Robert's voice was so close in the darkness that Cora jumped.

"New?"

"Things get so tangled as they are, I was thinking I might try-"

And his hand was on her shoulder, turning her toward him and reaching for the laces of her nightdress. The window afforded little light, and Cora sat still as stone as her husband unlaced her nightdress and slowly pulled it over her head. He had the right to, of course. Of course he did. There was no reason to feel so…so violated.

He did not stop there. It was off with his nightshirt as well, and then, without so much as a kiss, he was on top of her, his breath hot against her neck as he situated himself for business.

Her mother had told her to "think of England," when it was time for the necessary bits, but all Cora could think of was the way Robert's skin felt against hers, the rough and smooth of it, and the unexpected intimacy of being with him this way – without barriers.

He finished moments later with a grunt and a sag, momentarily resting his forehead against Cora's shoulder. For a horrifying, marvelous second, she thought he might settle in beside her for the night. But within minutes he was restored to life again, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek and retrieved his nightshirt from the foot of her bed.

"I … wish you a good night," he said as he paused at the door. Then he was gone, disappeared back to his man's domain, leaving Cora naked and baffled between the sheets of their marital bed.

Skin to skin. God forbid, but that changed everything.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm pregnant."

Robert's face fell slack, and it took a moment for him to think of the words to say.

"Good God."

Cora clasped her hands together and waited for her husband to gather his wits. The sunlight fell in slants through the windows of his study. She rarely bothered him there – he liked to have solitude to study his books and ledgers. But now, as she looked around, she thought that she'd rather like a place to herself such as this. In all the great big house, she hadn't a room to truly call her own, a place of retreat. The room that was hers was in reality both of theirs, and it would never do to spend time throughout the day walled away in a bedchamber.

But a room such as this, full of light and books and comfortable furniture – well, she might have thought to hint for it, had her standing in the family been a bit more secure. As it was, she felt like she was simply the pocketbook. The whole estate was essentially being run on her money, and yet she had not the right to even ask for a nook of her own to hole up in. No, she was simply the chequebook. And now, she supposed, the heir-producer.

"You're not ill then."

"I am perfectly well."

"I saw Smythe head upstairs with his bag. I thought-"

"I had suspicions of my condition. He confirmed them. He had a call to pay, but he said he would return later if you had any concerns."

"Does he think that you are able to handle the strain of pregnancy?"

"He says that I am perfectly healthy."

Robert nodded. "Ah. Well, I suppose that I shall trust him. Between Smythe, Mama, and Mrs. Hughes, we should be well set."

"Of course."

"And when shall it be?"

"Dr. Smythe said that I am two months along."

Robert stepped towards her, and Cora froze. They watched each other for a moment, the first honest gaze of their marriage, and Cora held herself firmly in check. What she wouldn't give to run to him just then, like a heroine in a novel. What she wouldn't give for him to hold her close and whisper words of joy. But there was joy on his face, just there, in the lines bracketing his mouth, and that would be enough for now. These English never did show excessive emotion, at any rate.

"We shall have to tell Mama."

"Quite right," said Cora softly, quailing at the thought. Lady Grantham intimidated her on the best of days, when attention was directed at her only at meal times and in the interminable interval before the men came into the drawing room after dinner.

"I daresay she will be pleased."

"I should hope so."

Robert took another step forward, and then another, and then he grasped her hands for a moment before lifting them to his lips.

"This is the start of it," he murmured. "A wonderful start. We will soon be Earl and Countess of Grantham, with our son and this house and a house in London. Perhaps we shall even have some daughters."

"That does sound wonderful," replied Cora around the catch in her throat. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and his lovely eyes looked right at her, right into her. She wanted so badly for him to like what he saw there. He looked so infrequently, he really took the time to see her so rarely, that perhaps, if he saw something that he could love-

He raised his hand to her cheek and lingered for a moment.

"I should think that it will be a good life," he said.

Cora smiled at him.

"I do not doubt it," she replied. She wanted to blather, she wanted to let him know that she was willing to try, that she was willing to re-start their marriage in a different way if it would mean their happiness as man and wife, Earl and Countess, heads of this house and the family that they were starting. He was a good man, a serious and strong man, tender in a way that was captivating to discover. Cora knew that she could be happy with him. That she would be happy with him, if only they could set to rights what had been started so wrongly.

Robert's hand cupped her cheek, and before she had a chance to catch her breath, his lips descended to hers quickly, placing one, two, three soft kisses there. It was the first time that he had kissed her since the wedding months earlier, and Cora had to hold onto his arm for a second to steady herself.

"I shall go tell Carson to pick out some good wine for dinner. I expect that we shall be making toasts," said Robert. He kissed her hands again, and then her cheek, and left the room.

Cora sank into the chair nearest and touched her lips. She did not even marvel at the room any longer; she was too busy reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the past moments.

How marvelous, to be kissed!

And yet, it was only his excitement. It was only his joy at the news of an heir, of their success, success that they had attained without any of the affection that Cora had always assumed so necessary to creating children.

But even those thoughts could not cloud away the speeding of her heart as she recalled, over and over, the heady bliss of being kissed so unexpectedly by her husband.


	3. Chapter 3

"Who is that woman to whom Robert is speaking?"

Rosamund handed Cora a glass of wine and turned around to find the woman to whom Cora referred.

"Ah! That's Lady Laurel Groves, the eldest daughter the Calloways."

"Indeed?"

Cora could not quite keep the note of jealousy out of her voice, but she hoped that the cacophony of orchestral music and voices would prevent Rosamund from noticing. There was a ball taking place at Downton, ostensibly in honor of Cora's twenty second birthday, but everyone knew that the real reason was the announcement of an heir. The heir's heir – the Crawley's secure hand on Downton was indeed a reason to celebrate.

Rather than remaining at his wife's side and basking in the glory of the evening, Robert had spent an inordinate amount of time with this woman, Laurel Calloway, across the dance floor and next to the windows. Robert was not one to have intimate acquaintances, even of his own gender, so the length of the conversation unnerved Cora.

"Lady Laurel was Robert's sweetheart when they were children," supplied Rosamund, sipping her wine and casting a speculative gaze on the couple. "Her father owned an estate nearby, and the family spent much time with ours. Robert and Lady Laurel were always hiding away in the library or out by the ruins. They never did let me play with them. They were always much too earnest for me."

"Earnest?" asked Cora, this time succeeding in keeping her tone free of jealousy.

"They discussed books. Not just novels, but poetry and biographies and histories and plays, all of those things that I had no interest in as a girl. I was a typical girl – all dresses and dolls and tea parties. Laurel was not."

"And you say they were sweethearts?" asked Cora tentatively. "What ended that?"

Rosamund smiled at Cora quickly, seeing right through her guise.

"Robert went off to school, of course. Eton and Cambridge. Though whenever he returned to Yorkshire, here Laurel was again, books in hand, eager to catch up. I suppose it was her marriage that cooled their camaraderie."

"Her marriage?" Cora wondered why, if they had been so close, they couldn't have married and united their titles and been done with it. They seemed quite cozy, all alone in their corner.

"Her father had a title, but he spent all of the estate's money. They would have lost it all, had she not married a wealthy barrister."

"Ah," said Cora, as a weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh dear," replied Rosamund as she realized what she had said. "Well, there's nothing wrong with it, of course. Laurel and her husband have been wed for three years now, and they seem perfectly happy."

"And where is he?" asked Cora shakily. Her emotions were all over the place with this pregnancy, but she would not allow herself to cry. Not at her own birthday party, and certainly not over something as petty as jealousy that her husband was talking to another woman.

"Not here tonight. He doesn't enjoy occasions such as this."

"I see," Cora managed, glaring at a portrait across the room to keep from crying.

"It's not as if Robert's still in love with her," Rosamund said, wrapping her arm quickly round Cora's waist. "Even if he was, he'd never do a thing. Robert's a gentleman."

"Even gentlemen can't help their hearts," replied Cora as the music died down and the birthday cake was brought out by the footmen.

Quick as a flash, Cora was surrounded by well-wishers, and Robert wound his way through the crowd and to her side. His hand on her back was perfunctory at best, as was his assistance in slicing the cake, but Cora was proud that at least she did not cry.

It wasn't as if she was losing him. He and Laurel had loved long before she arrived on the scene. Surely it wasn't betrayal if his heart hadn't been her's in the first place.

"Let's raise a glass to our lovely new daughter, Lady Cora, Vicountess of Downton" said Lord Grantham said, smiling at his daughter-in-law and raising his wine glass. A fresh glass was placed in Cora's hand, and she smiled at him and raised her glass to her lips amidst the "Here, Here"s that came from a crowd of people who hardly knew her.

"And to our future heir!" added Robert, provoking chuckling and another toast. Cora raised her glass again, though she did not drink any of the wine, and through eyes shimmering with tears, she watched a celebration, not of her person, but of everything she meant to the Crawleys.

She could have been a washed up old hag, and it wouldn't have mattered to them. She could have been a murderess, for all they cared! As the guests slogged back wine in her honor, and more importantly, in the honor of her future progeny, Cora realized that none of it was actually for her. She was an idea to these people, a means to an end, and worst of all, that statement extended to her husband. In fact, she could probably disappear to her room, and nobody would be the wiser.

"How the men do celebrate," came a voice from Cora's side. She turned quickly to find the Countess of Grantham, her mother-in-law, at her elbow. "One would just as easily believe they were celebrating their own fertility, and not a young woman's birthday."

"I am glad that they have a reason to celebrate, whatever they are celebrating," replied Cora with more humor than she felt.

"Even so, dear, you had better make that son of mine grateful for all that he has received in you," said Violet as she nodded to her son, who had made his way to where Laurel was waiting. "Men do have a way of forgetting."

"I am told that she was his childhood friend," murmured Cora, surprised at Violet's unexpected candor.

"Childhood friends hold a certain allure," responded Violet quickly, "But so do Americans, though Heaven knows I cannot see why."

Cora let the barb pass uncommented, and Violet pressed a hand to her arm.

"He is lucky, my dear. We all are. Let's see if we can't remind him of it a bit, shall we?"

With a reassuring pat, Violet made her way across the room to where Robert stood, leaving Cora in her wake.

"Do be careful," said Rosamund, who had found her way to Cora's other side. "Mama is a formidable ally."

"But why would she choose to help me?" mused Cora. Lady Grantham had hitherto only spoken to her to instruct her in behavior and remind her of duty, never to communicate feelings of familial bonds. It was rather unsettling to experience, truth be told.

"Because you're not just Robert's wife, you're saviour to our way of life," responded Rosamund with candor. "We Crawleys take time to settle in, but you'll be one of us in no time. Given enough years, Mama may even forget that you were raised by a commoner from Ohio. Although, I wouldn't expect the jokes at your nationality's expense to stop."

"I suppose that money is a universal language," said Cora, provoking a snort of laughter from Rosamund.

"Well said!" replied Rosamund, smiling appreciatively at Cora. "Now, what do you say to piquing Robert's interest a little? Sir Andrew has not been able to keep his eyes off of you all night. I daresay that the birthday girl deserves a dance, after all."

Cora smiled at her sister-in-law and allowed herself to be led over to Sir Andrew, whom she had met during her debutante ball the year before, and who had a marvelous sense of humor to go with his unfortunately hideous face.


	4. Chapter 4

She had been sleeping quite soundly when the pain woke her with a gasp. She knew instantly what it must be, because she had heard her mother speak of it in undertones so many times.

Miscarriage.

The moon drifted lazily through the windows, and as Cora could not think to light the candles, she relied on its light as she pulled the white sheet away from her body and found it stained crimson.

The pain continued, blanking out Cora's thoughts, and she curled into a ball and cried silently, taking care not to wake the family. The last thing she wanted in her ordeal was to be surrounded by strangers, her in-laws, these strange pragmatic Brits whose worlds would cave at the sight of blood on her sheets.

But that was a lie. There was one person whose presence she yearned for deep within her, even more than she yearned for her mother (who after all hadn't had much to do with her raising). And he was on the other side of the door nearest her, sleeping soundly in his bachelor's bed. One scream, and he would be there.

But she couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't bring herself to rouse him from sleep only to dash his dreams.

The reality of it was that she couldn't bear to see the light die in his eyes, not as she felt her dead or dying child come out of her.

She lost count of minutes or hours, but when the pain subsided, she realized her predicament.

She couldn't very well traipse about the house in a bloody nightgown, searching for assistance. Ringing the bell would do no good, since nobody was downstairs at this hour. And screaming would bring the exact people whose presence she wished to avoid for a few more hours at least.

Cora was silent for a moment, weighing her options. Finally, she climbed from the bed and pulled her gown over her head, leaving it in a heap on the soaked sheets. She removed her flannel knickers as well, resigning them to ruin. Then she pulled another gown out, donned it, tied her dressing gown on top, and snuck out of her rooms, and headed upstairs.

It took her a moment, once she had reached the women servants' quarters, to remember which room was Brown's. She only knew by chance, since she had taken it upon herself to visit last month when Brown fell ill. In the middle of the night, though, the journey was very different than it had been a month prior.

Brown awoke with a start at Cora's whisper, but her reaction was thankfully more visible than vocal. When she noticed that it was her employer who stood over her, she quickly lowered the knife that she kept below her pillow.

"What on Earth are ya doin' here, milady?" she asked in a whisper, careful not to awaken the housemaid who slept in the bed over.

"There's been an…accident," said Cora, for lack of a better term. Her face must have betrayed her, though, because Brown was out of bed in an instant, and she held Cora's elbow through the entire journey back to her room.

Brown took it upon herself to light candles, and only when she had did she turn to the bed.

"Oh no, milady," she said, surveying the damage. "I suspected…but it's so much worse to witness!"

A sob broke loose from Cora then, and she clutched her hands to her mouth to stifle the wailing that she could feel welling up in her throat.

Brown was at her side in an instant, holding her close in her matronly arms and talking to her calmly.

"It's all right, milady. You can go ahead and have a cry. It's an awful thing that's happened, it is, and a right messy thing, and so you can cry as long as you need. It's all right, then."

Cora did cry. Brown's words reminded her of the nanny who had raised her, a mulatto woman with strong arms and a gentle voice, and Cora buried her face in Brown's shoulder and let her sobs shake her body.

"What in Heaven's name is going on here?"

At the sound of Robert's voice, Cora stiffened. She felt Brown's arms drop, and she reluctantly pulled herself away from her lady's maid to find her husband staring at the sheets in horror.

"We're just getting Lady Cora cleaned up," said Brown finally, stepping forward to find fresh knickers from the chest.

"All this blood…" said Robert slowly, raising his eyes to Cora's. She stared back, helpless to shield him from the truth.

"I've lost the baby," she said finally.

They stared at each other across the gulf of their lost child's life, neither moving. Robert held Cora's gaze intently, and she watched the emotions cross his face: disbelief, horror, disappointment, and finally, haunting sadness.

"How?" he asked.

Cora wanted to go to him, to hold him, to shelter him, her husband, from the blow. But they were still essentially strangers, acquaintances who nodded and smiled and followed etiquette and met under the sheets on a weekly clock. Would he even let her touch him in this moment, she wondered?

"I do not know. I awoke to the pain."

"But was there something-"

"Sometimes it just happens with young mothers," said Brown, intervening at last. "Nobody knows why. My mother lost three children before she ever gave birth to my older siblings."

Cora saw the thought cross Robert's mind: three. It burned into hers, as well. What if it took the creation of three children to see one to a healthy birth? And then, with the perils of childhood – she didn't know if she could handle this three times. Already there was a hollow ache in her heart to match the emptiness in her stomach.

"I'll put fresh sheets on, milady," said Brown gently, breaking the silence. "Then you will lie back down. It's not good for you to be on your feet."

Robert stepped back, at a loss for what to do, as Brown struggled to put fresh sheets on the bed.

"You can return to bed," whispered Cora to Robert, clutching the side of her dressing table for strength. "I'm sorry to have woken you."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said quickly. "Are you, are you sure you're quite all right?"

The truth was that Cora wasn't all right, but she didn't tell Robert that. It was clear that he didn't know how to comfort her, and in fact, Cora did not know how she should be comforted. She wanted to curl into a ball and bawl, but at the same time, she didn't want to be left alone. But who was there here, in this vast house, to comfort her? It wouldn't be right for Brown to stay with her, but she knew that she couldn't ask Robert to remain here, in a room full of the stench of her child's parting. And while Rosamund was quite kind, Cora knew better than to awaken her with such tragic news. She'd be more likely to prattle about the merits of being childless than to hold Cora's hand.

"I will be after a time," replied Cora as truthfully as she could.

"Here, help me get her ladyship into bed," Brown instructed Robert, coming to Cora and taking one of her arms. Robert obeyed promptly, taking Cora's other arm and fairly lifting her into the bed.

"Sleep," he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "and in the morning, I will take care of telling the family."

At least he was willing to spare her that pain.

Robert left the room quickly, in a way that resembled fleeing, and Cora bit her fist to keep from crying again at the sight of it.

"Men never do handle such things well, milady," said Brown, reaching for Cora's hand and squeezing it. "They don't know how to properly show their feelings. Chances are he's in his bed right now, crying himself."

"I just wish-" began Cora, but she stopped abruptly. There was no use in voicing it; it would only heighten her discontent. She was fortunate as it was to be alive, and that the miscarriage had happened when no one was watching. She could only imagine what it would have been like to suddenly gush blood in the drawing room with Lady Violet sitting near.

"I know," said Brown, stroking Cora's forehead. "I know. Best to have a cry yourself, now. I'll stay here with you until you fall asleep."

"I don't know if I shall," said Cora plaintively. She couldn't imagine sleeping with this hole in her chest.

But she did, after a bout of crying and being soothed at Brown's hands. Propriety be hanged; Cora didn't know what she would have done without Brown's help. She let herself be lulled into unconsciousness by Brown's murmured assurances that tomorrow would be better. Maybe Brown was right. After all, it didn't seem as if matters could become much worse.


	5. Chapter 5

Cora turned away from the window in disgust.

She had taken to monitoring it all throughout her waking hours. The family and household assumed that it was to keep to herself and deal with her grief privately, but in reality, she stayed at the window so that she could monitor the time that Robert spent with Lady Laurel.

When had she become the jealous wife?

When she found out that her husband's childhood sweetheart was close at hand, Cora thought bitterly, closing her eyes and scrubbing her hands over her face.

The first few days following the miscarriage, Cora had remained in her bed, refusing food trays and clenching her fists under the blankets as Lady Violet and Rosamund had made their required visits each day. But slowly, she had realized that lying in her bed wasn't erasing her pain, that it only increased it to sit and dwell. She had allowed Brown to coax her to a lounge by the window.

From her perch at the window, Cora had watched as Lady Laurel arrived at Downton Abbey, either by horseback or foot, nearly every day. Without fail, if the weather was nice, she and Robert would appear on the grounds, often walking, but occasionally sitting on a bench or disappearing into the woods.

When it wasn't nice, she could only imagine what they were doing inside the very house in which she sat.

However morbid her interest, Cora's curiosity did rouse her from her grief. Instead of sitting in her room, waiting for her husband's requisite five minute meeting before he dressed for dinner, Cora waited for the hunt to begin, then had Brown dress her and arrange her downstairs in the drawing room, from where she could observe the activity of the hunt herself.

She watched as Robert and Lady Laurel took off together at the sound of the bugle, observed the closeness of their horses and the smile of satisfaction on Lady Laurel's face. Nor did she miss the way Robert reached out to pat the flank of Lady Laurel's mount, a reassuring, familiar pat that might as well have landed underneath Lady Laurel's mounds of clothing, on her thigh.

But Cora could not begrudge Lady Laurel her happiness. For all the jealousy biting at her stomach, she could see how hard it must be for Laurel. After all, Laurel had known Robert for their entire lives. They had grown up together, no doubt trusting that their estates would eventually be united in marriage (as Cora had heard whispered by the house maids had been assumed would be the case), and they had allowed themselves to care for one another. And anybody who had watched them as closely as Cora had would have seen the affection and happiness that they had when together. They were positively beautiful; Laurel's hair that glinted with fire and Robert's dark curls. Laurel was honey toned and robust, a perfect match to Robert's pale gentleness.

Robert returned from the hunt before the others in order to notify his mother of the return. When he entered the drawing room to find his wife sitting by the window, he hurried to her side.

"Have you been sitting here all this time?" he inquired, perching awkwardly on a chair next to the lounge.

"I have. I was a bit tired of being in my room, alone, and thought that perhaps it would do to be social."

"Are you sure that you're up to it?" asked Robert a bit anxiously. Rather too anxiously, Cora thought, suddenly wondering if he was worried about her encountering Laurel unexpectedly.

"My Lord," she began politely, but Robert quickly interrupted.

"Robert," he said.

"Robert," she repeated, the word foreign on her lips. She thought of him as Husband, or Robert my Husband, or The Viscount my Husband, but never as plain Robert. How odd that they should be allowed such intimacies when their hearts were foreign territory to one another.

"Yes, Cora?" he inquired.

Cora paused for a moment, wondering if she had ever heard him call her by name before. It sent a tiny thrill up her spine at the same moment that it reminded her of home, and of her father's tendency to call her "Ma Coeur."

"I would like for you to know that…that is, I am quite sorry that I haven't made you happy," she said, searching for words and failing to express what she really meant.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"I noticed that Lady Laurel Groves has been here quite a bit recently," she began, and when Robert opened his mouth to interject, she held up her hand, "And I would like for you to know that I am sorry that I cannot make you happy. I see you with her, and I know that of course it is because you two have grown up together, but I cannot help but wish that I could leave my fortune with you to use as you wish. That is, I so wish that I could…that I could provide you with what you need for happiness and step out of your way."

Silence reigned at the end of Cora's speech, and she pressed her fingernails into the palms of her hands. She hadn't managed to make her feelings clear, after all, and if the expression on Robert's face was any proof, she had quite overstepped her bounds.

"Do you realize that that's the most you've ever said to me?" he asked her finally.

"I beg your pardon?" it was her turn to ask.

"We have never really thought to have a serious conversation," he said, placing his hand on her chaise lounge. "Which is regrettable, and most likely my fault."

It was true; they had never really had a serious conversation. Their wedding trip had been brief, a whirlwind trip to Paris that consisted of sightseeing and as little time spent alone in their suite as possible. Upon their return to England, they had moved into separate bedrooms at Downton Abbey, and what little intimacy they had achieved by being alone together in a foreign society with a language barrier had disappeared. Robert had moved back into the paces of his usual life, and Cora had tried to carve a place for herself there, if not by his side, then at least somewhere in the same vicinity.

"I would quite like for you to be happy," said Cora quietly. She forced herself to meet his eyes, and for a moment they just looked at each other. It was amazing how little she actually looked at her husband, and how she really saw him even less. Now his face showed surprise, and she realized that her response to the still unnamed Laurel problem was not what he had expected of her.

"I am perfectly content," he said at last, placing his hand over hers.

"Whatever it means for your happiness," replied Cora slowly, maintaining eye contact with him. "Whatever that means of me, and of all of this…life. I desire your happiness."

For a second, she thought that she saw tears in Robert's eyes, but he blinked quickly and lifted her hand to his lips. Almost immediately, the dressing gong rang, breaking their quiet.

"You are an extraordinarily gracious creature," he said quickly, squeezing her fingers lightly, "And I do not deserve you."

"Nonsense," she replied, quirking a smile at him. "I expect that you did not ever dream of marrying an American, much less one from a self-made Cincinnati millionaire."

"You are every bit what a proper lady should be," he assured her smoothly. "Would you like for me to escort you upstairs?"

"Would you?" she asked. "And would you mind asking Carson to send Brown up to dress me for dinner?"

"Are you quite sure?" asked Robert as he helped her from the lounge. "I am sure that nobody will find it remiss for you to retire to your room."

"I am quite sure," she assured him, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm a bit proprietarily. Lady Laurel's sudden appearance in the front hall, clearly a result of her search for Robert, only increased Cora's satisfaction at being found on the arm of her husband.


	6. Chapter 6

The rap on Cora's door startled her. She was not expecting anybody so late; she had sent Brown away ages ago, and had been reading as her candle burned down. The Abbey had been quiet for quite some time now; Cora's newly attuned senses told her that even the servants had retired.

Robert opened the door slowly, as if anticipating some sort of rebuke. When he found Cora watching him warily, he smiled.

"Am I disturbing you?" he asked.

"Not at all," said Cora quickly, returning his smile and closing her book. "Please come in."

Robert entered and perched on the edge of her bed – their bed – his hand settling into the space between them. Cora thought about taking it, but restrained herself just in time. The intimacy that she idly entertained in her quiet hours was not to be acted upon. Robert probably would not know how to react if she did act upon it, at any rate. He would probably freeze up like the reserved man that he was and retire quickly to his own chamber.

"We have an invitation that I wanted to ask you about," said Robert.

"Indeed?" inquired Cora. It was not like Robert to ask her permission about an event. It was generally just assumed that they would attend together; he tended to tell her as he received the invitations, "We are going to a dinner in Ripon on the 28th," or something to that effect.

"The Calloways are having a bit of a dinner party for the younger ones of us," began Robert awkwardly. "I believe it's supposed to be a bit of a dance, perhaps a nighttime ride about the grounds, those sorts of silly things that would appall our parents. Shall you and I attend?"

Cora pressed her lips together in thought and kept her eyes trained on her own fingers. The fact that he was asking her permission to attend a function at the Calloways did not pass her by. She appreciated his inquiry, and at the same time, she wanted to tell him that no, she had no desire to romp about in the dark, especially not at the Calloways. But she understood what was being implied. He was asking her to be at his side at the Calloways' party. He wanted her there with him. And it sounded as if he would not go if she was unable.

"When is it to be held?" she asked carefully, meeting his eyes.

"On Tuesday next."

Cora could see the eagerness in his eyes. But of course he wanted to go; the guests would consist of his childhood set. And she couldn't deny him that. It had been over a month now since her miscarriage; she could stand for a bit of excitement. It wouldn't do to act the part of the invalid for much longer. She didn't want to be perceived as sickly.

"Of course we shall attend," said Cora, smiling at her husband. "I'll ask Rosamund to help me choose suitable attire for the festivities."

"You're sure you're up to it?" asked Robert. His hands crept forward across the duvet and rested over hers, filling her whole body instantly with warmth.

"Of course I am. Dr. Smythe says I am quite healed now. Exercise would do me good."

"I expect that it will. And if you tire, we can come home immediately."

Cora smiled at their hands.

"I was also thinking about the stables. My father has put me in charge of their maintenance, and it is time to remodel them. I saw some in Kent during my tour, and they quite impressed me. I thought I should go to Kent and have a bit of a look at them, just a few days' trip. Would you accompany me?"

"Me? Go with you to Kent?" asked Cora, startled.

"Of course you don't have to," replied Robert quickly, pulling his hand away.

"That's not what I meant," answered Cora, holding onto his fingers firmly. "I was just surprised. But I should love to accompany you. There is nothing pressing upon my time here, at any rate."

"I'm glad of it," said Robert.

Cora squeezed his fingers, a rush of affection flooding her body. It did not escape her notice that they were having a real conversation, the sort of discussion that husbands and wives were supposed to have. He wanted her to accompany him on a trip, when previously he would have lit off alone, leaving her to wait at the Abbey. He was even asking her about her desires, instead of simply imposing his will.

"I've kept you up. I'll let you sleep now," said Robert, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Cora longed to pull his face to hers and kiss him again, once, twice, enough times to make him yearn for more the same way that she did every time his hands brushed against hers.

"Robert, you don't have to sleep in that narrow bed in your dressing room," said Cora quietly, a note of something raw lingering in her voice.

"I…" began Robert, pausing awkwardly from where he had risen. Emotions crossed his face a bit too quickly for Cora to distinguish, but still she met his gaze. "That is, I wouldn't want to cause you any discomfort."

"It is our marriage bed," replied Cora, scooting to one side of the bed and turning down the duvet encouragingly. "It would not cause me discomfort for my husband to sleep in it."

"You are quite sure?" asked Robert, searching her face.

Cora nodded mutely. She so wanted him to understand that what she craved from him was not just a position, nor was it closeness only during amorous relations. She wanted him near her because he was a man, her husband, and they two were supposed to be halves of one whole. And after several months, she desired that, from her toes to her fingers to her thighs to her nose. All of her craved for him to be just a bit closer. In this world of rules and ranks and words that she did not understand, more than anything, she just wanted the comfort of her husband.

"Very well," said Robert finally, although there was a hint of pleasure in his voice.

He took off his dressing gown and laid it over her dressing table, then slid into the bed next to her. Cora blew out the candle. For a moment, neither of them moved. This was a new sensation, this closeness without the formality of their marital relations. Finally, Cora rolled onto her side, facing him. He remained on his back, so stiff that he could not have been sleeping, but in the dim light from the stars, Cora thought that she could see him smiling.

When she awoke in the middle of the night, it was to find his hand curving gently around her shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

"You look…" Robert had started when Cora had appeared in the doorway to his study, ready to leave for the Calloways'.

She was gratified that he could not continue; indeed, it spoke more flattery than any word could have done.

"Shall we be on our way, then?" asked Cora, sparing her husband the task of finding his words. She took the lead seamlessly, sliding her hand into the crook of his arm and leading him out to the waiting carriage. He handed her in, then settled in next to her. As the door closed, his fingers tightened around her gloved ones, and he did not let go for the entire journey to the Calloway estate.

Laurel was waiting for them upon their arrival.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, reaching for his hand. When Robert turned to hand Cora out of the carriage, Laurel froze, and Cora had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

"And Lady D-" added Laurel tactfully, her cheeks blazing.

"Please, if you are on such intimate terms with my husband, you must call me Cora," interrupted Cora. Robert's hand still lingered on her back, giving her confidence she would not have normally have possessed, and Lady Laurel nodded her head a bit ridiculously and beamed insincerely.

"What a cozy party we three shall be!" she chirped, reaching for Cora's hand and squeezing it. "When Robert told me about you, I knew that we should be friends. I am sure that he did not even begin to touch on your marvelous qualities at all."

"Really?" asked Cora, beginning to enjoy herself. "Because he did not find time to mention you to me at all. How curious. But I shall enjoy getting to know your qualities on my own terms."

Laurel merely blinked at that, before barking a laugh that resembled a shriek and moving away quickly. Cora felt a momentary pang of triumph, followed closely by the slow heaviness of guilt. She should not have given in to her catty side, no matter how the woman provoked her. After all, Cora had already won. She had obtained her future Earl and a title. Beyond that, her husband shared her bed. It would not do to rub it in. Perhaps she had been spending too much time around the Countess of late.

As Laurel moved away, Cora took a moment to take in her surroundings. She had performed her requisite newlywed calls around both London and the countryside, but those weeks had been such a whirl of getting used to Downton and to her in-laws that she found she remembered hardly a second of it. At any rate, she had not visited the Calloway estate in that round of calls, and now that she was here, she could see why.

The house was far smaller than Downton, and it rambled along in a ramshackle way that bespoke the eccentricity of its owners. It seemed a little worse for wear, as well, but Cora supposed that Lady Laurel's husband's fortune was seeing to its repair.

Was this what Downton would have looked like, had she not saved it?

The thought took Cora by surprise, as did the sadness that followed it. She had not realized that she already felt so fond of Downton, but the vision she had of its proud walls crumbling and its regal rooms dusty and faded made her throat ache. Without realizing it, she squeezed Robert's arm.

"Are you quite well?" he asked, concerned by the sadness on his wife's face.

"Quite," said Cora hurriedly, forcing a smile. "I was just reminded of home."

It was not a lie at all, Cora realized as the words left her mouth. Downton Abbey was her home now, although she was sure that she did not know when in the past half-year it had happened. Somewhere down the line, she had forgotten to yearn for the New York townhouse and Newport mansion that had formed her joint-home for the first two decades of her life. Enormous, drafty, marvelous Downton had taken their places in her heart.

"Did you have soirees like this in the United States, then?" asked Robert with surprise.

"Oh, young people made up parties all the time," laughed Cora. "We often met on the beach at night around large fires, or on people's patios, if the wind off the ocean was too strong."

"Are you sure that was quite proper?" asked Robert again.

"We were chaperoned, of course," said Cora quickly, "Which is more than I can say for this soiree."

"I am sure that Mr. Groves and Lady Laurel count as chaperone enough," replied Robert, scanning the crowd, "And every person here is married, whether or not his wife saw fit to join him."

"There are a good deal of men here," remarked Cora, taking a closer look at the crowd. "And to hear your mother talk, you would think that men were hard to come by in the countryside!"

"I doubt they'd miss one of the Calloway evenings," said Robert. "Come along, then, it's time to properly introduce you to some of my school mates."

Robert introduced his friends to Cora in a rather informal manner, by their first names and nicknames, and Cora was relieved to not have to remember more titles. Although a title was what she had sought as she crossed the ocean to find a husband, it was also one of the intricate ways of her new life that constantly reminded both her and those around her that she was not "their type of people."

"Everybody! Might I have your attention?" asked Lady Laurel, raising one hand. "We have a bit of a hunt planned, but perhaps not the type you're used to. There are clues all over the grounds, and each clue will lead you to the next. I'll give you each a handkerchief of a certain color, and at each clue, you'll collect your handkerchief. As for the end of the hunt, well, I'm sure you will all know when you have reached it."

"This is just like Laurel," Robert murmured in Cora's ear. "I was wondering what scheme she would have worked up."

"Really?" asked Cora. She saw the others whispering to themselves as well, and a few of the ladies looked a little bit less than amused.

"Yes, she likes to devise elaborate games before dinner. When I did not see the dinner laid out, I thought she must have something in mind. You see, Laurel's a bit of a master of logic, and devising games such as these keeps her busy."

Laurel came over to them then and handed them a periwinkle handkerchief and a clue card.

"I suppose you shall be with Cora then, this time," she said to Robert. Her teasing tone was not quite light enough to fully disguise the bitterness underneath it.

"Yes, I'm afraid he'll have to be," said Cora, forcing a greater amount of teasing and apology into her own voice to drown out the proprietary feeling threatening to choke her whenever Laurel came near. "I'm rather hopeless at games like these; I'm sure I'd be awful on my own, and you would all have to wait for me at the end."

"Well, Robert's fantastic with these sort of things," replied Laurel, smiling at Robert. "He and I never lost."

"It did help that you'd devised the games, of course," admitted Robert. He seemed perfectly oblivious to the silent struggle between Cora and Laurel, and Cora wondered if he realized that Laurel was a sore loser, and if he was purposefully taking Cora's side, or if he was completely oblivious to the situation at hand. While Cora hoped that he understood the subtext of the conversation, she also had some little knowledge of her husband, and what she did know pointed to the latter. Robert was startlingly caught up in his own way of viewing the world; he often failed to notice the nuances of the feminine world around him.

"Right, then," said Laurel, clapping her hands to gain everyone's attention. "Go to it!"

Everyone took off in separate directions, and Robert glanced at the card in his hand, then immediately grasped Cora's arm and took off at a run. Cora struggled to follow in her long skirts, and Robert slowed to accommodate her.

"These are quite competitive," said Robert apologetically as they approached a topiary that had lost its shape. "And I'm afraid that not knowing the grounds will put you at a disadvantage."

"How fortunate, then, that you have been here your whole life!" replied Cora.

Robert smiled, not detecting the note of bitterness in his wife's voice, and when she found a piece of paper in the topiary and handed it to him, he kissed her cheek.

"It's not important that we win, though, I suppose," he mused. "It's not as if these games are a sport. They're just a bit of fun."

"But we'd still like to give Lady Laurel competition, wouldn't we?" asked Cora.

"Right then, we're off to the ruins!" Robert took Cora's arm again, and they started off, Cora just as determined as Robert to prove to Lady Laurel that they could team up and win without her help.

And so he pulled her around the grounds, through the gardens and park and even around the stables, before they wound up in a thicket in the woods.

"Do you really think a clue is here?" asked Cora, searching the bushes for a scrap of paper. She took the previous clue from Robert's hand and read it, but it made no sense to her.

"It's a private reference," Robert explained. "Laurel and I, well, we used to hide here to escape her governess."

"And what did you do?" asked Cora as her heart sped up sickeningly. She didn't want to imagine Robert and Laurel kissing in this very thicket, wrapped around each other, exploring each other in ways that Robert had not even tried with her. Why else would they have hidden in the woods?

"Oh, nothing much," replied Robert as he searched for the clue. "We read some St. Augustine, interesting, but not the sort of thing our parents preferred. And once, Laurel came up with a volume of poetry that was highly risqué. I'm surprised her father left it in the library, but the Calloways always did have a dash of eccentricity."

"That's not what I expected at all," murmured Cora. She was a bit ashamed for having let her jealousy rise when it had no reason to.

"No?" asked Robert. His voice was a lot softer than a moment before, and Cora let her eyes meet his. The way that he was looking at her made her heart beat double time.

"No," she whispered.

"Cora," said Robert as his arm snuck around her waist, "There was never anything between Laurel and myself. Perhaps there could have been but I, well. She was my childhood friend, after all. I'm afraid that I did not notice that she was a girl until my holidays from Eton, and by then, the match had been deemed unsuitable by my father, so I did not pursue her."

Robert's other hand found its way to her cheek, and Cora couldn't seem to pull her gaze away from Robert's. The thicket was dark, it was true, but she could see enough of the heat in his eyes to know what was coming. Still, when his lips met hers, it stole her breath away. In the same moment, he pulled her to his body until they were pressed against each other entirely, with not a breath's space between them.

"Besides, I could never notice her when you are around," continued Robert. "You are so beautiful that I…that is…"

Once again, Robert could not continue his thought, and Cora stood on tiptoe instead, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing their lips together. His tongue prodded her mouth, and she opened to him, letting his tongue fill her mouth and his arms press their bodies together.

When they emerged from the thicket and made their way to the dinner, which was being held in a clearing in the woods, on tables carried from the house, everyone simply raised their eyebrows. Cora heard a few comments made to Robert as he sat down, but as his school chums were the ones making the comments, Robert did not seem too upset.

"What a misfortune, your not being able to finish," said Laurel from across the table. Cora looked up at her and blinked, trying to suppress a smile."

"I don't know that I'd call it a misfortune, at all," she replied mysteriously, before returning to her dinner.

She wouldn't call it a misfortune at all, because she had a feeling that the ride home would be even more enjoyable than the thicket. And besides, with her husband's explanation of his lack of feelings for Laurel, she felt lighter than air.

Robert caught Cora's hand beneath the table and smiled her, and Cora smiled back.

She felt as if she had won the game, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Cora hurried down the hall, her shawl in hand. She had thoughtlessly left it behind on her way to meet her husband, and now she had kept him waiting. Cora knew that Robert wouldn't mind terribly, but it was stupid all the same. Her head had not been on correctly since the week before, when she had lost another baby, this one only a little more than a month along, and Brown had nearly tossed it out with her dirty bath water.

Cora knew that it was only two miscarriages now, and both fairly early on, but it still worried her. What if she could not have children; what would happen to her fortune, then? She hadn't really listened when Lord Grantham had explained the terms of inheritance to her; naturally, everything, title and fortune, would go to her son. But what if she could not have children? What then?

Cora paused before the door to the library to catch her breath and swallow down her feelings. It would never do to let Robert know that she was upset. He did not handle female emotions well, and if he discovered that she'd miscarried again, well. Their marital happiness was fragile as it was. It didn't need another miscarriage to shakes its foundations.

"You are taking her to Kent?"

Cora stopped short at the tone of outrage that carried Rosamund's voice out of the open door of the library.

"Of course," replied Robert. His tone held a note of surprise.

"Isn't that a bit…shabby?" asked Rosamund, her voice dripping with disdain.

"I don't see how," answered Robert quickly, his voice rising, "as she's my wife."

"Precisely. The thought of taking your wife to Kent with you to inspect stables-"

"As much as I regret to admit it, your sister does have a point," interrupted the Countess firmly. "It is not as if Cora's family raised a lot of horses in New York City. What use could she be of you on a tour of stables?"

"I also have school chums there," replied Robert. "There will be social events, and chances to see the Kentish countryside. I thought perhaps we should even take a day or two at the seaside."

"Oh, does America not have a coast, then?" asked the Countess innocently. "And I thought it simply lacked citizens with good manners."

"Let the boy take his wife if he so pleases. At least that way, we know he'll not get into any trouble."

Even the Countess met this remark with silence. Lord Grantham so rarely spoke that when he did, his wife and daughter quieted themselves and listened.

"There's not really a question of that," said Robert finally, breaking the silence.

"Then the Calloway girl's been done away with? Glad to hear it. Thought I'd have to have a dovecote put in to hide away whispers of impolite behaviour."

"Father, I-" began Robert.

"Take your wife and have done with it, boy," interrupted the Earl loudly. "Violet, as long as he desires his wife, we should encourage it. There's less trouble for us in that, at any rate. What should she do in this great house with him away?"

"What any woman does when her husband is away," replied the Countess quickly. "Take charge of his business until he decides to come back."

There was the bustle of movement then, family noises with which Cora had not yet grown familiar, and she hurried back to the staircase so that Robert would not find her eavesdropping.

"Ah, there you are!" he called to her as he stepped out of the library. "Have you finally found your shawl, then?"

"I didn't want to trouble Brown," answered Cora, hurrying to his side.

"Cora, you mustn't worry about troubling the servants. It is their job to be troubled by you," said Robert disapprovingly.

"It's not as if we didn't have servants in America," replied Cora quickly. But she did not keep the fire out of her voice as well as she had hoped, and Robert paused and watched her closely for a moment.

"You're quite right, of course. I did not mean to offend you," he said formally.

"Oh Robert, don't stiffen up with me," cajoled Cora, taking his arm and squeezing it. "I simply meant that, not coming from a titled family doesn't mean that I'm not used to this lifestyle. There are bits that are foreign, of course, and cultural nuances that I have yet to learn, but I should think that I am quite adept at the proper behavior towards servants. I also know that Brown is working quite hard to prepare my dress for the dinner tomorrow night, and I do not want to disturb her work and put her behind schedule. If she does not have it done in time, both she and I will face the wrath of your mother."

"Right you are, indeed," answered Robert quickly, eager for reconciliation. "Now come outside with me, there's a corner of the parkland that I've not yet shown you."

"Is there?" asked Cora as the suggestive timbre of his voice warmed her stomach.

Sure enough, he led her to a remote corner of the grounds that she had never before encountered. They found themselves surrounded by trees and thickets, and Cora was carefully picking leaves from her hair when Robert stilled her hands.

"There's no use bothering with that now," he said as he let go of her hands and captured her lips with his own. His tongue slipped between her lips, and his arms wrapped around her body, pulling her fully against him. She could barely feel his shape through the boning of her corset and padding of her undergarments, but after a few moments, she felt the change in him distinctly enough.

As if sensing Cora's awareness, Robert's hand trailed from her back to her breast. He squeezed gently, then more firmly, and the moan that came from Cora's throat was matched by Robert's own.

Robert fumbled inexpertly with Cora's clasps, hooks, and buttons before giving up in a fit of temper.

"Hush, darling," soothed Cora, catching his hands and kissing them. "It's better that we stop now. I would never be able to save my hair, and the servants would be sure to tell your mother. We shall just have to wait until it is safe to retire."

"I shall eat quickly indeed," replied Robert, holding her face between his hands and kissing her firmly.

"Perhaps I'll even plead fatigue," murmured Cora as Robert captured her lips again.

The fire in her body raged, and she was frightfully thankful that it was the Strallans come to dinner tonight, with their dull son and obsession with farming. It would certainly be an early night, for there was only so much prattling about crops and cattle that Lady Grantham could take before she pleaded a headache and broke up the party with her dreadful humor and acts of malady.


	9. Chapter 9

"I do hope that you won't be dreadfully bored in Kent," said Rosamund quickly as Robert went to find a newspaper.

The train sped away from Yorkshire and the home that Cora had begun to grow accustomed to, but one piece of the home, her sister-in-law, traveled with her. Cora took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. She was still amazed at the amount of charades she had to play with even the most intimate members of her circle.

"I'm sure I will find it perfectly entertaining," she said sweetly. "Anything to do with Downton interests me immensely."

"As it well should do," replied Rosamund, arching her eyebrow, "With its coronet coming to you as soon as Daddy keels over.

"Really, Rosamund!" exclaimed Robert as he made his way back to them. "There's no need to be quite so crass about it."

"Oh Robert," sighed Rosamund, "As if you did not think of the very thing daily."

"Of course I do, but only because I am forced to by my circumstance."

Robert shook out his newspaper and glowered at Rosamund.

"As I was saying, I hope you won't be dreadfully bored in Kent, but should you grow tired of your trip to the countryside, you can always come to London and join me. Our Aunt Katharine would enjoy your presence; she does so love to have young women to parade about." Rosamund glanced at Robert as she spoke, her eyes sparkling.

"And what I am to do then, just continue on my trip alone as my wife cavorts around London?" asked Robert, rising to the bait.

Cora had to suppress a smile. The way that Rosamund and Robert aggravated each other never failed to amuse her.

"As I have said, I shall be perfectly well entertained with Robert," Cora interjected. Robert crinkled his paper quite suddenly, and both Rosamund and Cora had to stifle inappropriate smiles.

And she was perfectly entertained with Robert. He was attentive to her needs, constantly at her side, amusing in the company with her friends, and most surprisingly, quite humorous. It was their first chance to be a proper couple. That is, it was their first chance to be a proper couple since they had begun to be a proper couple. Cora did not count their honeymoon as a part of their marriage. It wasn't really, as it had mainly consisted of awkward conjugal encounters and rushed tours of landmarks around Paris.

Kent was completely different. Robert's school friends were quite happy to have he and Cora to liven their parties. They took picnics out to the seaside, and Cora once again experienced the joy of trying to hold her hat on as she ate tiny sandwiches. The wind struck up so badly that Robert had to feed her himself, and best of all, there were no tutting mothers or sisters around to disapprove of their untoward affection.

But nights were the best.

The first night, Brown had scarcely left the room when Robert was behind Cora, his fingers tangling in the fabric of her nightgown and pulling it away from her skin. His lips had found her neck, his hands her breasts, and she had groaned so loudly that she was sure that Brown had heard.

The second night, she dismissed Brown before she was ready for bed. After all, she had no need of her nightgown or braided hair. Robert preferred it loose, and with their nightly acrobatics, it was best to not even bother. Brown's knowing smile as she hung the clothes in the wardrobe did not even embarrass Cora. The best part of marriage to Robert was her right to this intensity, this all-consuming joy of being his wife in every sense of the word.

By the fifth night, their last in Kent before returning to York and their duties at Downton, Cora knew that it was time. It had been several weeks, and nothing catastrophic had happened yet. With her newfound closeness to Robert, she felt that she could no longer keep it to herself.

"I'm expecting," she said breathlessly, her head tucked beneath Robert's chin, their limbs tangled carelessly together. His fingers, which had been trailing up and down her hip, froze.

"I beg your pardon?" Robert asked finally.

"I'm expecting," repeated Cora. "A baby."

"Are you…" began Robert. But he seemed to lose his breath, and his whole body tensed, and Cora sat up and took his face in her hands.

"I'm sure," she said, stroking his cheeks. "It's still very early, of course, but something's different."

"…different?" Robert managed.

Cora bit her lip, then smiled reassuringly at her husband. She had never told him of the second miscarriage; she hadn't wanted to jeopardize their happiness while it was at its most precarious. Even still, she knew that the first had been enough to frighten him badly.

"I feel so much more confident this time," said Cora. "More sure, somehow. It's still too soon to know, of course, but I feel like this child is rooted. Like it's meant to come to us, like it's the beginning of our family."

"As if he's chosen us?" asked Robert, smiling up at her.

"It, Robert, not he," corrected Cora, pinching his shoulder. "I'll not have you parading around, crowing about your son, when there's a very good chance that it could be a girl."

"Cora-" began Robert, but Cora cut him off.

"No. I saw how you and your Father behaved the first time, so sure that it was a son, the heir's heir. I don't want you two to be disappointed should your longed-for son be a daughter. Daughters are still precious, marvelous things. And I want you to love her, should she be a her."

"When you put it like that, you're practically counting on it being a girl," said Robert sulkily.

Cora ducked her head and kissed him firmly.

"Then you'll love her just as much as you would a son," she whispered against his lips.

She kissed Robert again, and that was the end of their discussion, as neither was inclined to mention the baby while other things consumed their time.


	10. Chapter 10

"And then, the new kitchen maid broke the bowl on Nancy's foot, which she said was an accident, but we all think not," finished Brown, glancing at Cora in the mirror. Cora grinned at her, and she managed to catch the quirk of a smile as Brown turned around to hang her dress in the wardrobe.

"And what did Nancy do?" asked Cora as she applied lotion to her arms.

"Exactly what you'd expect Nancy to do. She spluttered a bit about what a fool the kitchen maid was, and seemed about to curse, but the new butler, Mr. Carson, came in and put a stop to it."

"Quite right. Carson seems a very efficient man," said Cora.

"He is. Very efficient, and very capable for one so young. I would have thought he'd still be a valet, but no, he does a good job at being a butler."

"And do you respect him?" asked Cora.

"Respect him? But of course, m'lady. I expect that even Lord Grantham respects Mr. Carson. Now, if that's all, I shall take these garments down to be laundered," said Brown, gathering an arm-full of petticoats.

Cora smiled to herself. She knew that Brown hated gossip, but as she approached full term, it was harder and harder for her to get around the house, much less out the front door. Brown had grudgingly taken it upon herself to be her mistress's eyes and ears, and each time she came to dress Cora, she divulged everything that had happened around the house throughout the day. Cora preferred it to Rosamund's gossip sessions, when she recalled everything happening to people that Cora had only met once and had no interest in.

"Thank you, Brown," said Cora, easing herself off of her dressing table stool. There was a twinge in her back, and another in her stomach, but she forced a smile onto her face. "And could you perhaps alert Carson? The midwife may need to be called tonight."

Brown was at Cora's side immediately, helping her into bed, tucking the covers around her.

"M'lady, are you saying-"

"Brown, my water has not even broken yet. I've just got some aches. But I would just like him to be aware that she may need to be called."

"Right away, m'lady. Is there anything I can do-"

Cora patted Brown's hand reassuringly.

"I'm fine, Brown," she said. "I am just going to try to get some rest, so that in the event that it is tonight, I have the strength to bear it. And you may want to get some rest, too."

"Of course," said Brown, briefly brushing a curl back from Cora's forehead. "I'll tell Mr. Carson. And if anything should happen, of course I'll be right here."

"Thank you, Brown," replied Cora. "I do appreciate it."

Robert crawled into bed next to Cora a few moments later, and as soon as the candle was blown out, he nestled close to her back. His lips found hers, and his hand reached for her breast, and-

"Oh, Cora. Oh dear did you have a-"

"I believe that my water just broke, actually, darling."

"Your wa-"

"The beginning of the birth."

"The beginning of-"

"You might have Carson go for the midwife. Or find Brown, if you can. She shouldn't be in bed yet."

"You're-you're…" Robert took a breath and found Cora's face in the darkness. She could just make out the whites of his eyes as he held her hands tightly.

"Are you in pain?"

"A bit of discomfort is all."

"And you'll be all right if I leave?"

"I daresay I'll be a lot worse off if you don't."

"You're right, of course."

"And you'll be in bed with me when the baby is born, at this rate."

"Holy Mother-"

"Robert, please."

He was out of bed with a leap, and without even a candle, he threw on his dressing gown and ran for the corridor.

Cora had a moment of peace to breathe it all in: her coming birth, her coming child, this moment of quiet when the baby in her belly was all hers, and still safe and alive and well.

"You can do this, Baby," she whispered, rubbing her belly firmly. "You and I can both do this, and when we've done it, your Father will be so proud."

Then Brown burst in, followed by Nancy, and shortly thereafter, the midwife. Lady Grantham came in some time later, but rather than showing any feminine sensibility, she planted herself firmly in view of the happenings and proceeded to boss everybody, including the midwife, around.

"It's my grandchild, isn't it?" she demanded. "I have a right to make sure it's all done correctly. We wouldn't want imbeciles damaging the child before it has a chance to damage itself."

Hours and hours later, torturous hours of held back screams, worried looks, sweating, and blood, there was a push and a smack and a cry, and Cora fell back onto her pillows, exhausted. She only managed to revive herself when the midwife placed a clean, swaddled baby in her arms.

"It's a girl," said Lady Grantham, her eyebrow raised, her eyes staring fixedly at the tiny child. Surprisingly, her voice held not a note of disapproval. "I shall go tell Robert."

In the next moments, Cora's heart was torn. She felt instant adoration for the baby in her arms, for the red, wrinkled, beautiful daughter that was completely hers. She had finally done it. She had finally carried a baby to term, had successfully delivered, and the baby was with her, alive, breathing, well. It was true that it was not a son, it was not an heir, but she was young, and Robert was young, and they could always have a son. Surely Robert would love this daughter. Wouldn't he?

When Robert did finally enter, he had eyes only for Cora. He kissed her cheek, and then, disregarding the servants that still hovered, he kissed her forehead and lips, as well. Only then did he turn his attention to the baby.

"Mother says it's a girl," he murmured, his fingers straying to the child. He quickly snatched back his hand when he realized what he was doing.

"You may hold her," said Cora in reply.

"I, I don't think-" he began, but Cora caught his hand with her spare one and drew him closer.

"Please hold her," she asked.

Robert sat gingerly on the side of the bed, and slowly, laboriously, Cora situated their daughter into his arms.

And it was as if their whole world held its breath.

Robert stared at his daughter, and his daughter slept quietly in his arms, and Cora watched both of them, and she knew. She knew that they would be all right. Robert's eyes glistened, and he did not form words, but her heart swelled so large that she understood his thoughts without the need for words to be uttered.

"What shall we call her?" she asked him finally.

"Mary," replied Robert instantly. "And she shall be the lady of the house. And I dare say she'll end up being bossier than any son, at any rate, and Mama will spoil her until there's no telling her no for anything."

"And you'll love every minute of it," said Cora, reaching out and brushing her finger over her daughter's smooth forehead.

"I already do," answered Robert softly. He looked up and caught Cora's eye, and Cora looked back at him, and she felt her heart, which she had once thought split itself somewhere across the Atlantic, settle gently into place, as she sat with her family in this vast house that was finally her home.

End.


End file.
